Do I not bleed?
by Alias - Eyelash - Blue
Summary: Fang 's back at the school, being used in terrifying, painful experiments. Basically me torturing him, until Max comes to the rescue. Angsty, but with some sarcastic comic relief. And he's shirtless! May go up to M. Who doesn't want to hurt our hero?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

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**"There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt," - Erma Bombeck  
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The world fuzzily came back into focus as Fang tried to pry his eyelids open. Urgh! That had been a bad fight. Way too many; too many to count. They had been outnumbered, like one verses a hundred each. They hadn't stood a chance. Even through the crusted up bloodied blob that was his nose he could still smell the choking disinfectant, and death. He knew exactly where he was; The School.

So where had his shirt and shoes gone?

He was lying on his stomach, bare chested, strapped to a clinical bed; he could taste the metal tang of blood in his mouth. His arms were held down by his sides, the Velcro cutting into his wrists, and by the feel of it his bare feet too. There was also a strap running across his back, just below the wing line, holding him down. He was so trussed up he couldn't even struggle, he could barely move at all; they obviously thought a lot of him.

Fang could just about raise his head a couple inches, craning his neck back to see in front of him, but the view wasn't great; below the fuzzy line of fringe hanging over his vision – damn his hair needed a cut – he could see a white wall, with a disconcerting yellow stain dripping down the middle.

Looking up made him light headed, probably due to the rake lines that ran down the side of his face, drying blood. Here's a tip, don't try fight erasers in a garden centre; it gets ugly when the wheelbarrows get involved. He also managed to turn his head slightly to the side without the world spinning, but that only gave him half his usual peripheral vision. He could only make out the blurred shape of a bleeping monitor on one side, and an IV drip on the other.

Momentarily defeated, he rested his chin on the metal bed, but didn't give in to the waves of pain assailing him. There was someone else in the room, and he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. He wasn't going to speak to them either. Instead, he slowed his breathing, forcing himself to relax as much as possible, and concentrated on his surroundings. Ignoring the pain, he judged the empty air spaces around him, the echoing sounds that he couldn't yet identify, and the draft of cool air.

Finally planning out the room in his mind; placing north directly in front of him, there was a window, or door, or maybe even ventilator at an exact 45 degree angle North West, where the breeze was coming from. There was empty space around him for about a metre in a complete circle, all directions, but somewhere above was a balcony running along the length of the wall, with machines and people, he thought. The room was large, and had a high ceiling, judging by the echoing sounds, and he could feel warmth on his bruised back, so either strong overhead lighting, or a glass roof? He wasn't sure on the last one.

He felt the air currents stir, as the person he had known was there moved closer towards him. He could hear them breathing, and after a pause, they spoke: "Impressive. Quite clearly in pain, and yet avoids succumbing to it," A soprano, female voice said, "A sort of developed survival instinct. Almost primitive,"

Fang strained at his straps, trying to twist round to see the owner of the voice, but his efforts were useless. The watchers waited patiently for him to tire, as if he was a mildly interesting insect flying repeatedly at the window. With a half cough, half grunt, he settled again, but grudgingly, with a new burning feeling of humiliation at their indifference, that he was storing for the attack, when that time came, and it always did.

The woman walked quickly around his bed, her heels clicking on the cold floor. She moved up to the front, into Fang's line of vision, and though Fang made no attempt to look up, she leaned down to make sure he was looking at her.

"Hello Fang," she said silkily. If she was hoping the use of his name would shake him she was wrong, Fang thought, he was unshakable. He made no move or sound in response to that, but she seemed to expect this. "The silent treatment doesn't work here Fang. We don't need you to talk, and we don't care for anything you have to say. All we want is your body," she whispered, quite seductively he thought.

Fang couldn't help himself. Was she coming onto him? Even in this situation, a mocking smile revealed itself slowly. Even smiling, or the closest he could get to a smile now, hurt, as he worked the muscles of his beaten face into something resembling a grimace.

Misinterpreting his smile, the woman said sharply, "There is no one coming to save you. You can't get out of this one. The flock is dead,"

The smile vanished. Fang knew they probably weren't telling the truth, but there was still some chance that they were. He didn't believe them, but if the flock were still alive why weren't they here, kicking ass to get to him? He _knew _the flock was still alive. On some level he believed he was so close to them he would feel their death himself, if they did bite the dust, but it was scarily quiet on the ass kicking front. Where were they? Where was Max?

The woman stalked around the other side of him, and he just saw her caress a button before she disappeared behind him. At the push of the button a whirring noise started up, that due to the cavernous walls sounded like it was coming from everywhere. Then above the whir Fang heard a clanking noise that was _definitely _hanging directly above him, and descending.

"Lie still," the woman ordered. "For your own safety,"

'For your own safety', Fang thought. He couldn't ignore the irony. He had been beaten and strapped to a bed! Were they going to give him protective goggles? But the warning was ominous, and he obeyed.

Fang's body tensed, and his fists clenched against the straps that held him.

Suddenly something hook-like dug into his back. He clamped his mouth shut, clenching his teeth together, in a desperate attempt not to scream. The claw actually scraped along his spine, digging in and slicing down. He felt searing pain and a faint wetness that told him blood was leaking out of the clean line.

"Oops, I missed," Came a voice from the balcony, but that was the only acknowledgment of the mistake. God damn stupid jerk!

Before Fang could even partially recover, or fully comprehend what was happening, the mechanical contraption came down again, this time hitting its mark. It clamped onto the just protruding edges of his wings, and pulled. The metal pincers yanked them out, unfolding them against his will, stretching them out as far as they would go. He felt like they were about to snap, as feathers actually sailed past his head.

_They were ripping out his wings! _He thought desperately as pain erupted in his shoulder blades and everywhere surrounding them. They are _not _freaking _elastic_, he wanted to say, but knew if he opened his mouth the moan of pain would escape instead, and he couldn't let that happen. Mercifully, at full capacity, the pincers stopped. His wings were spread out and held firmly in place by the machine so he felt that the slightest move would tear them clean off.

The numerous scientists assembled on the balcony above and directly beside the Avian Hybrid couldn't help gasping in admiration at the glorious, midnight black set of wings. Fang let the breath hiss out through his teeth, pressing his forehead against the cold metal surface, trying to keep from groaning out loud. They could have at least _asked!_

"I'm sorry. Did that hurt?" the woman's voice soothed patronisingly.

Fang was actually shaking, and he hated himself for it. His hands were now clenched so hard he could swore his fingers were going numb. With surprise he felt a warm, soft hand stroke his closed fist. He was unable to pull his hand away, but he kept his fist closed against her. He did not yield to it, but she must have felt his surprise.

Fondling his fingers, trying to prise them away to get a grip on his hand, she said, "An incredible wingspan. You are a very special person Fang. A very special Hybrid,"

That was the most frightening thing. They were calling him 'Fang'. They were calling him a 'person'. They were treating him like he was an actual human being with thoughts and feelings, but they were still doing this to him. That was why, although he wouldn't admit it to them, he was terrified. How evil did you have to be to torture something you considered to be another 'person', an equal?

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**A/N: I don't know who Erma Bombeck is, I just like the quote, and it's relevance. I'm going to open every chapter with a random quote I find on the internet, or a favourite of mine. ;-)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
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**"If you prick us, do we not bleed?" - The Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare.**

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Fang slowly drifted back into consciousness after a drug induced sleep. His mouth was hanging wide open, and his cheek felt glued to the metal bed due to the large puddle of drool. Gross. With an effort, he shut his mouth, licking his lips. The first thing he realised was how thirsty he was. He rolled his tongue over his dry mouth, feeling like it was so huge it was choking him. He mumbled incoherently to himself, trying to wake up.

He was alone, apparently, still strapped into the metal bed, though the contraption that had held his wings was now lurking dormant above him, and his wings were hanging limply. He began to test them gingerly. It felt like every single muscle was throbbing, even the bones, and feathers felt like they were aching. That damn machine! He couldn't move his wings much without awakening pain somewhere in his back, but his shoulder blades had suffered the worst, and they were torture. He couldn't even bare it enough to tuck them safely back in, because when he moved them _that _way, the accidental slit down his spine protested irritatingly, with a sharp, white pain, and oozed a little more blood. So for now he lay still, with his wings curving down over him, just brushing the floor.

The empty room was cold, and dark, and there was nobody else there. Fang felt it was an improvement to last time, but couldn't help finding it creepy, and foreboding. The silence pressed in on him; he hadn't been expecting this. In the absence of people, he tried again to free himself from the straps, but the position he was in made it hard to get out without hurting something, and he wasn't going to try escape from this place with a broken arm. He paused suddenly, lifting his head, listening, wondering if he was imagining the noise. The sound of echoing footsteps came and went again. The click of heels bounced off the white walls.

"Hello?" Fang called out, hoarsely, taking the risk. He flinching when his voice echoed back at him, but the footsteps stopped. There was a moment of complete silence, like the world holding it's breath, and then...

The room exploded with light and sound as the scientists swarmed in again. The overhead lights flicked on efficiently, to a blinding degree, and the excited voices talked over each other, which culminated in a wave of confusion hitting Fang, as he struggled to make sense of it all.

"Good morning! Good morning!" bounced the woman with heels and the seductive voice. She was playing a different role today; the bubbly tour guide. "This is our latest experiment. His name is Fang. I'm sure you'll be very interested to see what we have planned for him," she introduced the dazed hybrid, waving a hand flamboyantly in his direction. The assembled scientists leaned closer to peer at him with interest, clipboards at the ready.

As soon as Fang's eyes became accustomed to the bright light, he narrowed them again, in hatred, at the group of scientists, who one by one, took a step back, away from the force of his glare. "Fang! Be nice!" the woman abolished, with a tinkling laugh, "He hasn't been here long," she told the scientists, shaking her head at Fang with a fond, humouring expression.

"I spent the first ten years of my life here," Fang contradicted her in a low voice. As he spoke, the scientists clustered around the bed hungrily, their faces displaying mixed emotions of excitement, surprise, and even rapture; they hadn't thought him capable of intelligent communication.

"That was the old school," the woman told them, her expression becoming mask-like; he was obviously saying the wrong things. "_This _school," she continued in the sing-song tour guide voice, "is new and improved, although the same building, it is really completely different. This is regarded as a place of learning,"

"A leopard never changes his spots," Fang growled back at her. He was, quite clearly, not playing his part, but he was damned if he was gonna play dumb for these suckers. They wanted to _learn _something did they?

"If you'll come up to the balcony..." the woman spoke politely to the visiting scientists -

"I mean, there's still the straps, cages, needles, and tests - " Fang continued, his voice level, but getting louder. One of the younger scientists looked pale; apparently they didn't sell that part.

" - we can observe better from there," The woman continued, ignoring Fang, although more scientists looked reluctant now.

" I just don't know where they get the branding irons and thumb screws from. You can't get high quality torture gear from Walmart," Fang was laying it on thick now.

"Just up the stairs to the left," the woman said cheerfully, directing the guests away. As soon as they were out of sight, her jolly smile faded.

She turned furious eyes on Fang, and a barely restrained, menacing tone was added to her speech, "Fang," she warned, "A lot of people are very interested in your genetic structure, so next time you want to open that smart mouth of yours, think it through," She actually whispered the last part, flicking him under the chin, as he looked up at her.

The way her manner kept changing unnerved Fang, but he tried not to show it, ignoring the stinging pain her nail had inflicted just below his jawline.

"Maybe you should tell your scientists the whole story," he countered, "I won't play along. Remember, I'm not here of my own free will," He glared up at her.

"I suggest you remember that too," she breathed back, stalking off, she almost mouthed over her shoulder, "I'm the one in charge here," Then raising her voice to the waiting scientists, and adding a careless, grim tone, "Start the procedure."

Fang felt the shadows move over him, as the participating scientists stood up. He felt a rough hand touch his foot, moving up to the ankle, and tugging at the strap. This was it. The chance to escape. He felt the strap loosen, but a hand held his foot down so he couldn't kick out, pressing the ankle bone uncomfortably into the rigid surface. Fang's body was still flooded with adrenalin. If he could just gain the upper hand. If they would just release him, he could _totally-_

He felt something sharp jab into the back of his leg, and he sucked in a stunned breath. And then almost immediately, the breath came out slowly, his eyes closed, and all the tension, and fast blooded anticipation melted away. He went limp. He was still conscious, but everything, his arms, his eyelids, even his thoughts, felt too heavy, and too much effort. They worked quickly, and he felt the straps fall away, the still conscious part of him raging at the missed opportunity, but he could do nothing as they lifted and carried him across the room.

He was manipulated into another piece of machinary, but couldn't make it out properly. Fang began to associate himself with the sensation in his body again, as it began to tingle. The limpness must have only lasted a minute or two, just long enough for them to move him; so they wanted him to be fully aware of what was happening to him, and judge his reaction. Fang found that, this time, he was on his back, staring into the overhead lighting, but held off the ground, and supported so that he didn't crush his wings. A soft, cushioned structure supported his head and shoulders, and then another started at his waistline, keeping the pressure off his back and wings. It was the most comfortable he had ever been, but that was about to change.

The scientists again surrounded him, looking like a pack circling their prey, and then they struck. The first stuck a pin on the inside of his arm, just below the elbow; it didn't hurt, in fact it was pretty feeble in the circumstances, but it was enough to distract Fang's attention. _Ow! _And microseconds later, another needle pricked him from the other side, and then another at his shoulder, and then again from the first side. They did it split seconds after each other so that his head was whipping from side to side each time they poked him. It was more annoying than anything. What was the idea? Poke him until he flipped? He could see the needles sticking out all the way up and down his arms, and along his body. Judging by the tingling feeling they were stuck all over his wings too. There was no pain, but just the sight was disconcerting; by the time they'd finished he looked, and felt like a porcupine, or a pin cushion. He couldn't believe people actually did stuff like this to relax! What was it called? Acupuncture? Puncture sounded right enough.

Then he saw them attaching the spiraling, thin tubes, curling up from the needles in his body, ready to release some unknown liquid into his bloodstream. _Injection. _That one word was enough to send him into a cold flush of terror. The physical beatings he could handle, but if they were putting things inside him... Fang could just make out the ceiling through the network of tubes snaking their way over his head and down towards him. To the watching scientists above, the hybrid was almost indiscernible. It looked like the figure had just sprouted tentacles that fanned out below him, along with a cocoon of tubes that encased his body, winding down into him. The last Whitecoat darted forward, wrapping something around the only free space on Fang's upper arm, and sticking something sucker-like to his chest.

"Throughout the procedure we will be monitoring the hybrids heartbeat, and blood pressure to calculate the levels of stress," The woman intoned gravely, watching his face, but standing back at a distance.

Oh god, Fang thought, looking at her determined face, that didn't sound good at all. This was his last coherent thought that didn't involve some form of plea for it to stop. They tipped the plastic bag up, it's contents began to drip, rolling down the tubes into him, and the procedure started.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

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**Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. - Anon**

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The scientist watched the red numbers blinking on the blood pressure screen in horror. They kept ascending, picking up speed. All he could hear was the beeping of the heart monitor, so fast now it was almost a whine, and you could barely distinguish one beat from the next. Although he didn't want to look, his eyes were drawn to the cause of this phenomenon; the Avian Hybrid.

At least now the screams, that had echoed so distressingly around the room, had stopped. The hybrid was now silent, but it's eyes were open, and staring blindly. Apparently it was still conscious, but some dead look in the eyes made him doubt that, and still they weren't stopping the procedure. He wasn't the kind to go for moderation, but even he thought, wasn't that enough now?

The Hybrid's body was shining with sweat, his dark, damp hair flopping into his eyes as more convulsing spasms shook him. He was shaking and quivering continually, so that the constant clinking of the chains that held him there was added to the din. There were tiny pinprick spots of blood dotted up and down his torso where some of the needles had slipped, their wires now dangling forlornly in stringy tangles.; although the Hybrid was unable to rip them out as he had desperately tried to before, the amount of movement they had allowed meant that some had come loose, as he had twisted and writhed in agony.

The scientist raised a tentative opinion, "Do you think it's enough now? Should we stop?" _Can we stop?_

Miss Darthmoore looked down upon the scene impassively from above. "No," she said, without emotion, "He's still trying to fight it. A little more should suffice,"

Hating to watch the reaction he knew would come from this, yet doing it anyway, the scientist filled another medical plastic bag with the toxic serum they were flooding the hybrid's system with. He carefully punctured and held the bag, before feeding the numerous wires into it and letting it drip.

The hybrid's reaction was immediate – he had thought it was impossible for the heartbeat to go any faster, but it increased by half a millisecond yet again. The hybrid's eyes slammed shut, his face screwing up in pain, his breath coming out in sharp ragged bursts that made his chest rapidly rise and fall in a jerky way that was unsettling. Then the hybrids body actually jolted and shook violently against the bonds, looking as if the movements were only the body's reaction, that the mind had no part in and he could not control. His arms wrenched against the cuffs, his mouth part way open, eyes wide, staring with a burning fever. Then suddenly calming slightly, new beads of sweat broke out on his brow as the shivering slowly became less and less.

And, at the exact point that the shaking stopped, the scientist heard something that, despite his years of training, sent a shiver down his spine.

The heart monitor had stopped.

There was no endless bleep, because they knew the hybrid's heartbeat was faster and under stress would be so frequent it could sound like the dead tone; there was just the long seconds of silence. The scientist saw the hybrid go limp, sinking down into the dip where his back and wings were, ending so that his hands were held above his head, which had hung forward onto his chest, the drifts of hair covering his face, that was now tranquil; although the scientist could still picture all too clearly the tortured expression it had worn moments before.

He started to remove the wires and hanging poisons from the hybrid's corpse, when he felt a determined hand pull him back. Miss Darthmoore was at his side.

"Wait a moment," she ordered, her eyes on the hybrid.

And then, the scientist heard, with a wave of relief he was not accustomed to, a single, solitary beep from the heart monitor. And a couple seconds later another beep, and then it began to pick up momentum, forging out it's steady rhythm. The heartbeat was regular... for a human; for the hybrid it was frighteningly slow. Having almost gotten used to the frantic beeps of before, the scientist found himself expecting the beat sooner, and it gave him an unpleasant jump of surprise each time it was half a second later than usual.

"Good," Miss Darthmoore said, a grim smile darkening her face.

She walked over to the hybrid, pushing aside the wires that hung down like a curtain, not caring about cutting the skin as she pulled them out. Then she, startlingly, but with an almost comforting touch, ran her hand smoothly down the unconscious hybrids arm. It was an odd gesture, that seemed misplaced, especially considering that as she did so, the spots of blood that were welling up were smeared in sickening stripes along the olive coloured skin. She reached the shoulder, her hand darting away quickly. Instead she grasped a clump of fringe and dragged his head roughly upwards. The hybrid focused dazedly on her with dilated pupils, as she pushed the sweaty fringe back off his forehead.

"Can you hear that Fang? Your heartbeat. Slow isn't it. So, tell me, how do you feel?"

The hybrid only moaned pitifully. "Too bad Fang," she said lightly, using his name almost playfully, "You were quite impressive up until now," Then speaking to the scientists, "Take him away,"

The scientist, handling the wings awkwardly, deposited the weak Hybrid in a dog crate next to the other experiments. He paused for a moment, watching, and the hybrid looked at him with dull, dark eyes, but there was an intense... accusation there. In his dreams that night it flicked between that expression of 'How could you?' and the image of it's body racked with pain and twisted with wires, and he wondered if any of the other scientists spared a thought for their victims, or if they truly didn't care.

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"_Fang," _

For the longest time he thought he was imagining it, shushing it and preferring to return to his world of numbly receding pain, but the persistent little voice just wouldn't go away.

"Fang."

Fang opened his eyes, how many times had he had to force them open now? Wouldn't it be easier if he just didn't bother, and they stayed shut... forever?

"Fang!"

He managed to force himself to his elbows, trying to focus on the little shape in the cage next to him. He tried to open his mouth to say something, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, but as he did so, a startling pain crashed up and down his body, and the world shot away from him, disappearing very fast.

Fang slowly came to_, _because someone was poking him repeatedly on the top of his head. He returned to consciousness far more smoothly this time, slumped against the side of the crate. He righted himself carefully, and stared up at the little boy in the crate balanced on top of his, who was reaching down through the mesh to poke him.

"Hey," Fang mumbled, half in greeting, half as in '_stop _freaking _poking me.'_

"_Are _you Fang?" The little boy asked uncertainly, "From the flock?"

"Yeah," Fang managed the word, but it didn't sound like a word as more of a groan, he realised in shock. He felt like he didn't even have enough energy to move his mouth, to speak. Even the slightest movement felt like too much effort, but it wasn't the heavy feeling of the drugs before, it was just that he felt so tired – like he wanted to sleep forever.

"Dude, you're like _famous!" _the little kid exclaimed in an excited whisper. "Hey guys, It's _him!"_

There was a sudden stir among the crates, as every single experiment and hybrid in the place began whispering to each other, and turned to look at him.

"You're here to get us out, right?" The little girl one on his right was almost vibrating inside her crate.

"Yeah, sure,"Fang murmured, slumping lower down in his crate. He felt very hot all of a sudden, and sort of like... like his _bones _were throbbing. He shifted his weight slightly, trying to find a position that made him feel slightly comfortable, and not like he wanted to sink lower and lower through the floor and into the earth – weird thought, but that was how he felt – like even lying, even being, and touching surfaces was too much, and he just wanted to find a place where he could float.

And then the questioning voice said, "H...Hey are you okay?" Fang didn't answer. He could feel every single vein and artery in his body; he was aware of his entire circulatory system, and the blood it was pumping round felt cold, like ice, and very slow. "You...er... You've gone white,"

"Oh no," Said the other voice, the one from above. "They did that _thing _to him,"

There was a deathly silence, as if everyone in the room knew what that meant. Fang wanted to ask, What? What did they do to him? Why did he feel like his body was dying without him?

The next time, Fang opened his eyes to see hundreds of other shining eyes peering at him out of the darkening room.

"He's awake again," The girl next to him said, still watching him through the crate with adoring admiration.

"Damn," Said the voice from his other side; it sounded New Yorker. Fang turned his head to see an older looking kid, his head shaved and something stuck to his arm, like a tag. "You're nothing special," he spat at Fang. "You're stuck here just like the rest of us,"

Fang didn't react to it; he'd heard those kind of insults so often now they had no meaning for him any more, but he wondered if only he was sensing the trace of bitter disappointment in the kid's voice.

"What's so great about you, huh?" He continued with venom, "You're reacting to their freakin' tests exactly the same way as all the others, and you'll die soon, just like they did, so what's so special about you? Nothing that's what!"

It was almost like amidst the insults he was saying, 'You can't save us. Why does everyone say you can?'. Fang wondered dimly, as the drowsiness took him what it was like to be so hopeless, because he still had that; he hadn't given up yet.

"Hey! Don't go back to sleep!" The two littler ones said in synchronised, high voices, but he ignored them.

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A/N: I'm actually rather _scared_ of the beginning of this chapter. It's almost too awful to read. Good god, what the hell is wrong with me? Why do I torture him so? That's why I did it from the scientist's view, because I don't think the kind of pain Fang experienced there is even describable, unless you just put, _aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhhh! _And that woman, Miss Darthmoore is just plain weird, right? I think she has... hybrid fetishes. Don't worry. Fang'll get his fire back, and start being badass again in the next chapter or too.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: These chapters just keep getting longer and longer. Anton and Jeremy are mine. All mine! I wish Fang was, but unfortunately not.

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**Chapter 4  
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**"Nobody can hurt me without my permission," – Mahatma Gandhi**

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The Scientist crept along the aisles, between the sleeping cages. Actually, he thought, it would probably look less conspicuous if he walked normally, rather than creeping, but the situation seemed to call for it. Every so often he'd look furtively over his shoulder, even though he knew there was nobody else there. It was like he was trying to hide from himself.

He knew he was being a traitor to the cause, but he just couldn't live with this guilt. And anyway, he tried to reason with himself, they wanted the Avian hybrid alive, so really he was doing them a favour. What they were doing... they were killing it!

His eyes passed over the experiments sleeping fitfully in their crates. Some his gaze lingered on; the one's he had created, but his had all been failures. He just wasn't cut out for this, he decided, and he couldn't bare to watch another creature die at his hand. They may not be human, but they were living.

He readied the formula, his hand twitching on the end of the syringe, and his white coat billowed around it as he darted around the final corner. He crouched in front of the Avian Hybrid. Whether it was sleeping or unconscious he couldn't tell, but it was still breathing. It was hunched up at the side of the cage, with it's black wings, that it still couldn't retract, pressed up against the mesh. It looked like it should hurt, but maybe, he thought, the procedure was working, and the hybrid could no longer feel them.

"Fang?" he tested the name gingerly, but there was no response.

Sighing, he brought the syringe up from his side, staring for a moment in thought at the straw coloured liquid sloshing inside. Then, with shaking hands, looking around again, he brought the key out of his pocket. Inserting it into the lock, it turned smoothly and silently, and the cage door sprang open.

He waited again to see if the hybrid moved, perhaps sensing the chance of freedom, but there was no change. The scientist reached inside the crate, leaning his body backwards, like he wanted to get as far away from the experiment as possible, but then stretching his arm out to reach it. He positioned the syringe correctly, hitting the vein, even from this distance, and watched it empty. Then he drew his arm out quickly, half closing the crate door, but waiting.

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Fang was half asleep, caught between dream and waking, but he was aware of the prick in his arm and the slow feeling of energy crawling up through his body. Soon he felt fully awake, back to near normality. No, that was a lie - he felt better than normal. He felt newly invigorated, like he'd just got an adrenalin kick, endorphins, and happy pills all at the same time, but he was careful not to show it.

His body, without visibly twitching a muscle, slowly tensed, and he cracked his eye open a slit. Through the slither and curtain of eyelashes, he could just see the scientist that had lead his torture crouched in front of his cage, the door held open slackly in his hand. The rush of excitement he felt at that sight was almost uncontrollable. Almost.

Fang waited, slowly breathing in and out, preparing. He didn't want to wait too long, and lose this chance, but he was trying to see if there were any traps or tricks he was missing, without moving, or opening his eyes - A difficult task.

Eventually he couldn't stand it any longer. He caught sight of the door, and the obscuring scientist. His muscles bunched, his eyes snapped open, and he pounced.

There was no warning look, or vengeful roar. There was just the silent ten seconds as Fang leaped from cage to corridor, and then the dull thump as he hit the barrier that was the scientist in the middle. The two fell backwards onto the tiled floor, the only noise being a small clatter and the gasp of surprise from the scientist.

Fang couldn't fight very well - he felt so jacked up he wanted to do everything all at once and couldn't do it fast enough, so a punch would stop halfway, wanting to turn into a grab or a twist. He felt like he was vibrating, but then his wings felt slightly awkward, like they were cramping up, so he wasn't as agile as usual.

Even with all these conflicting stimulants, he still got all his weight heavily on top of the scientist, and within seconds, soundlessly, Fang had the guy's head held firmly between his hands, ready to bring it smashing down on the floor, and hoping his stupid brain would spill out all over the tiles.

The scientist stared up at Fang's face, looking terrified, like he knew he deserved all the pain Fang could be, and was considering, causing him. Fang, breathing hard, knelt heavily on the scientist's chest, hating the fact that he half enjoyed the gagging noise it resulted in.

"Wait," Came a low, husky voice, but surprisingly, it didn't come from the scientist.

Fang turned his head quickly to see the New Yorker in the cage next to his, staring out at them with a level gaze.

"Don't hurt him," And there was something about the way he said it - it wasn't frightened, and didn't sound like he cared whether or not Fang took his advice, but there was a sort of order resonating somewhere in there.

Fang, even as he did so wondering why, let go off the guy's head, letting it drop and hearing him swear as it hit the floor, hard.

He backed up off the scientist, but didn't relax his stance, circling round, away from the open door of the crate. The scientist stood up himself, dusting down his white coat, like he did this every day. He turned to the shaved teenager watching them. "Thank you Anton," he said very politely.

"Whatever Jeremy," The kid drawled back, like he couldn't care less.

Jeremy turned to Fang warily, "I suppose I should have expected that,"

Fang said nothing, but felt the new energy fuel the already bubbling hatred for the man.

"I'm very sorry," Jeremy continued, "But I'm honestly trying to help, against Miss Darthmoore's wishes. I've given you a mixture that should delay the effects, but only for a little while,"

There was a pause.

"Delay what effects?" Fang asked quietly.

"I imagine you'd want to spend the remaining time with your... flock," Jeremy continued haltingly. "You should...fly off, whilst you still can,"

Jeremy looked incredibly nervous, his eyes shifting. Looking slightly childlike, he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm sorry," he said again, before turning on his heel and walking swiftly back down the aisle - he was almost running.

Fang was still standing in the middle of the aisle, feeling slightly confused about why that hadn't turned into a fight, and why exactly he was set free. As usual he decided not to dwell on the mysteries, focusing on the more substantial task of _getting out. _Jeremy had made it clear that this was his chance to escape, but he wasn't exactly going to get any help. The only thing making Fang pause was Anton.

"Bastard," Anton muttered from the cage, but loud enough for the retreating scientist to hear. "He likes to think he's different. Likes to think he's helping us, but he isn't," Directing his next remark at Fang, he added, "He's let you out, but he doesn't think about anyone else, and anyway, you'll just get caught again and then punished. He only makes things worse."

Anton ran his hand over his shaved head, still spitting out insults after Jeremy. The sickly yellow tag on his wrist swung back and forth."Are you gonna let me out then?" He said suddenly.

"No key," Fang shrugged, distractedly because '_He doesn't think about anyone else.'_ was repeating itself inside his head.

How many times had he got out of this building without thinking of helping the others trapped here? By now he could have at least given them a hint on how to escape. He could have left instructions. He could have written a manual on it, but he hadn't stopped to think about anyone but himself, and Max, and the flock.

"This is the key," Anton said, waving the little yellow tag, that whipped against his wrist.

"Right," Fang muttered, moving forward. Anton held his arm out so the tag dangled just above the electronic lock. Fang grabbed it, pulling it down to swipe the lock - there was a little red flash, but nothing happened.

"Error message," Anton said, "Go again,"

"Why is yours electrical?" Fang asked, annoyed, trying it again.

"Because they don't like me," Anton said, grinning.

There was a beep, and the lock clicked open.

Fang walked backwards away from Anton, who was climbing out. Somehow that had felt weird, and not at all heroic. There was just something about the way Anton was - like he was doing you a favour, by letting you rescue him.

Anton straightened up, stretching out his long arms and legs. Like Fang, he also had trousers, but no shirt or shoes - Strange uniform, Fang thought, very different from the usual medical pyjama suit. Probably Miss Darthmoore's idea. It made him feel very self conscious, not to mention chilly.

When Anton had finished shaking out the cramp, he yelled "Hey Jeremy, wait a minute,"

Jeremy had now reached the door, but to Fang's surprise actually stopped at the call and turned back.

And then in the blink of an eye, with a noise like _Whoomph, _Anton was suddenly standing in front of Jeremy, fist raised. He landed the punch, and Jeremy sank to the floor, blood pouring from his nose.

"But I created you," Jeremy pleaded, although with the bust nose you might as well replace all his 't's with 'd's.

"Exactly," Anton growled over him. "I just wanted to hurt you myself," And then in another _whoomph _he disappeared and reappeared beside Fang. Fang felt very glad he managed not to jump in surprise.

"Teleportation," Anton explained, "That's why my cage is electrical. Thanks man, you'd better get goin' right?"

Fang shook his head. "First, everyone else," he said. Fang wasn't going to leave again without trying to help the others. Damn experimentation - it screwed with your morals.

"I hoped you'd say that," Anton grinned again, like a Cheshire cat, bringing out from his trouser pocket a ring of keys. Across the room, Jeremy looked up from the floor at the keys and then his hand flew to his pocket. 'Thief', he mouthed.

"Better do it quickly," Anton said.

Fang nodded hurriedly. He wanted it to be fast, so he could get out quickly. '_Fly off, whilst you still can', _ had worried him. He rolled his shoulder muscles, trying to dislodge the stiffness, ready for flight. Also there was the added problem of Jeremy getting to his feet, glaring at Anton, and opening his mouth to shout.

"Go hit him again," Fang said mildly.

"Gladly," was Anton's response, another _whoomph_, another crack, and Fang set about unlocking all the other cages. He worked quickly down the aisles, leaving the door open and moving on - what happened next was up to them, but he had to do something before he left. And he was leaving, despite the alarm bells and warning lights that had just started up. Despite the shouts and running feet now charging towards them down the corridor.

Fang adopted a tight, controlled fighting stance. He was almost looking forward to it, wanting to expel some of this pent up energy. Fair enough letting Anton dispose of his nemesis, but now Fang was going to really give them hell. He was going to leave the place in ruins damn it, because they deserved it - he was leaving, now.

* * *

A/N: A bit of Jumper in there for you - I love teleportation. I'm not sure I like the second half of this - I might rewrite it, but I put it up to see what you think. Also, I have a question. I want to bring in Max soon, but I'm worried doing it from Max's POV would disrupt the nice descriptive flow I've got going here, because let's face it, Max isn't all that wordy. I could do Max in 3rd person, but that's not very Maximum Ride. What do you think?

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Again I have no idea who Louis Nizer is. I've just been looking up quotes, and I liked it. :-p

* * *

**Chapter 5**

*****

**We are slow to believe that which if believed would hurt our feelings. - Louis Nizer**

*****

* * *

"Maximum Ride?" The smart suited receptionist called out into the waiting room.

Max closed her eyes briefly, breathing out fast, before standing up. Jeez, Did they have to announce it like that? This was bad enough as it was, and now everyone was looking at them. Angel and Gazzy moved an almost imperceptible inch closer to her as all the eyes in the waiting room turned to look at the flock. Max made a mental note to thump whoever's idea it was to herald this; this was supposed to be inconspicuous, wasn't it? Angel's hand crawled into hers, and Max gripped it tightly, smiling at her reassuringly and leading the flock down the corridor to the office.

The flock filed into the small office sheepishly, Max came in last, closing the door and leaning on it, glaring at the man behind the desk.

Jeb Batchelder looked up at them and gave them a smile. The smile faded when he saw Max's expression. "Good news?" he managed to say.

"Good news?" Max repeated, deadpan. "Just good? Not excellent or fantastic or joyful, just good?"

Jeb managed to keep his momentum going. "We know where Fang is,"

"Is that because I told you? Or because you didn't believe me and insisted on spending two days working it out before figuring that I was right in the first place?" Max was staring at him, with a hard expression, unblinking. The flock were lined up against the wall behind her, each with the same mask of expressionless face. Jeb took in their bandages, half healed scrapes and band aid covered limbs, and swallowed.

"Er... yes... well, you were right,"

"I know," Max said. "He's at the school,"

"Yes," Jeb replied, though it wasn't a question.

"48 hours," Max said, her rigid restraint beginning to crack. Her voice was starting to shake, "You know what they can do to him in 48 hours,"

"Max please-" Jeb began, but he was feeling the full force of the flock in turmoil.

"Can we go get him back now?" Nudge interrupted, her usually bubbly voice was flat and hollow.

"Yes, yes of course," Jeb stammered. The flock actually moved all at once, jumping up for the door, ready for action. "Wait!" Jeb almost shouted. "The reason I called you in here was because we're about to get a transmission from the school, and I think you need to be here for negotiations,"

"What negotiations!" Max yelled back, "Fang was kidnapped. We _need _to go and get him,"

"This may be important," Jeb pleaded.

Max stood absolutely still and tense for a moment, weighing up the situation. Finally she let out a frustrated sigh and dropped into the vacant chair. "Fine. I guess we should see it,"

"Good job Max," Jeb said, smiling at her. She glared back. His weird, non relevant compliments always put her off, especially now. He looked at the clock over the flat screen TV implanted into the wall. "Two minutes," he said.

For a while, which couldn't have been longer than a couple minutes, but felt longer, nobody spoke. Eventually Jeb said, into the hostile silence, "Max I had to make you wait. You couldn't have brought him back when you were badly injured, they would have captured you too. You had to rest,"

Max couldn't think of any response and so settled for stony silence, narrowing her eyes at him. Then on second thoughts, opened her mouth to add 'whatever', in her best 'couldn't care less voice', but was cut off by the TV screen which crackled into life, making them all jump.

"Good morning," came a cheery, bubblegum commercial type voice. The voice was coming from the TV stereo, but the picture stayed blank.

"Miss Darthmoore," Jeb said humbly, by way of introduction, "It's Jeb Batchelder here, with Maximum Ride and the Flock,"

"Ah, Jeb!" the girlish voice exclaimed. "And the Flock. How wonderful!"

Max was getting the creeping itch in her fist telling her to punch the TV screen, though she knew it wouldn't do any good.

"I suppose you want to see your missing flock member?"

And now the screen flickered into life, and Max's breath caught in her throat. Fang? She heard the intake of breath from the others behind her. The video image showed Fang lying full length on a steel bed, his hands and feet strapped to the table. He had no shirt on, and Max's squirming butterflies in her stomach at the sight of his flat stomach and chest was quelled almost instantly by the fact that she thought she could see his ribcage. He looked so thin, and pale, and almost dead. Dead? She thought, is he dead? This thought felt exactly like a bomb blast in mental form. She actually closed her eyes from the force of it, wanting to curl up and hunker down, but as the panic subsided slowly, she opened her eyes and saw his chest rise and fall. Breathing. Still alive.

Max's mouth opened. She wanted to scream and roar, and bust up that stupid TV that was transmitting the hateful, chirpy voice, but all that came out was, "Fang..." in a tiny squeak of a voice.

"This was at 2am this morning," The voice announced, "It's been 11 hours since then. Shall we see how he's doing now?"

The picture flickered, and now it looked like a security camera, with the numbers blinking along at the bottom. The camera was trained on a metal cage, but it was dark and empty, with the door hanging open. "As you can see he's..." The voice began, before it faltered. "Wait... where?..." Max couldn't help feeling a stab of satisfaction as the gleeful narration cut short in confusion. And then a dark shape flew across the screen, blocking out the camera view and swiftly disappearing. "What was-"

Then the camera swung round sharply, like someone had just moved it suddenly to try capture the shot. And the image focused in on the scene. And then the sound crashed back in. And it was chaos.

Fang was crouched there, poised like an attacking animal, his eyes glinting. The space around him was a commotion of running scientists and the air was filled the sound of things smashing and people shouting.

"What on earth is going on!" The previously buoyant voice was now getting thoroughly pissed off.

"We need some help down here!" Came the crackly reply through the security camera. "It's got out. It's trying to escape!"

"Well, stop it!"

A couple of the scientists started towards Fang, and after only a step, he had snapped his wings out; the surge of air and the vacuum created by the sudden unfurling actually blew the scientists back away from him. Apart from that, Fang hadn't twitched a muscle, and he froze there, looking like a dark, avenging angel. It was there that Max noticed something was wrong. Something was... wonky. His wings looked odd, like a coat hanging slightly off it's hanger, but she couldn't pin point it.

Before she could puzzle over it more, he sprung into action. Fang curled his wings back in carefully and launched himself at the nearest person. The security camera wasn't designed to capture that kind of fast movement; working only in second clips. All you could see was the motion trails, but it was so _fast. _Max was now leaning over so far on her chair she was barely sitting on it any more, moving closer and closer to the TV screen. Fang was stood in the middle of the energy, his body literally _blurring _as he fought in earnest, and the scientists fell around him. Gazzy leapt up off his chair, punching the air and yelled "Yes!"

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Go Fang!"

Max had never seen Fang fight like that. Not even when they were fighting for their life; well, they were _always _fighting for their life, but not even when it had been really bad. It was like he wasn't even thinking about it. Like it wasn't just self defence any more, it was violence. He was attacking with blind anger, and she was starting to get the feeling he wasn't going to stop. Even if he had the chance to get out, he wasn't going to stop until he'd dealt with every single one of them.

Max gripped the sides of her chair hard, staring at the screen, trying to refrain from shouting at it. The woman's voice squealed back in with a harsh crackle. "Stop him," she screeched, and then, "Just do it!"

The footage seemed to slow down, in slow motion for a second as Fang pulled his fist back and landed a jaw crunching punch on a whitecoats chin, before the entire thing cut out with a spurt of white noise that made Iggy wince, and Max found herself on her feet wanting to dive straight through the screen into that pixilated massacre.

"Fang!" she shouted desperately as the little white dot of image disappeared in the middle of the TV.

And then the image came back, sharp and clear, of a harassed looking blonde woman, fuming at the camera.

"Let me assure you," she said in steely tones. "That was a mere setback. Fang is being held deep within the building, and he cannot get out without navigating his way through five upper floors, and then we have an electrical field in place around the grounds. He will not leave the site. You can forget about any ridiculous ideas of him _escaping. _His release relies solely on you listening to our demands,"

Max stood up straight and tall in front of the transmitting TV, matching the woman's glare. "Did you really think," she said, applying as much condescending venom as she could muster, "after that performance we would take anything you said seriously?" Miss Darthmoore wisely remained silent, simply glaring at the flock standing in the tiny office, defying her. "We've gotten away from you so many times before and you keep trying to use the same stupid tricks," Max raised an eyebrow. "Will you ever learn? We're coming to get Fang, and we're going to get in and out, and bring him home, and you can't do a damn thing about it!"

To Max's surprise and discomfort, Miss Darthmoore began to smile, a cold, humourless smile of someone who knows they still have the upper hand.

"I'm sure you shall," she said, with wicked pleasantness. "But I'd hurry If I were you," Max didn't answer, or ask the question that was begging to be asked. She wasn't going to play along with this idiotic dialogue. Miss Darthmoore just continued to smile into the silence, and said. "Fang will be dead in five days, and most of the time, near enough."

And then it clicked out again, but this time accompanied by a false, electronic line of, "Transmission Terminated."

* * *

A/N: Okay, please please _please _review and tell me how this worked out. Feedback is needed. Should I continue like this for a while and go off on a 'saving Fang' tangent?


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I updated guys! Damn homework! You have no idea. I'm writing this instead of an art essay (cause I'm so naughty. Lol). Anyway on with the show. Enjoy!  
A/N: Okay, second note, I'm not as happy with this as I'd like to be, but I'm a perfectionist, and I've been rewriting this over and over, so I thought I'd just put you out of your misery, and post up what I have, about the 50th draft. - Review!

* * *

**Chapter 6**

*****

**"We are more often frightened than hurt; and we suffer more from imagination than from reality," - Seneca  
**

*****

Fang bolted out of a side door into another deserted corridor. He skidded on the wet floor, slamming into the opposite wall, but pushed himself off and kept running. The floor was awash with a flood of water, and Fang had to screw his eyes up against the torrent that was still coming from the sprinkler system overhead. The water spat at him, somehow the constant flecks had drenched him. The sprinklers were on overdrive. There was a fire somewhere, and it created a muggy, stifling heat, so that even the water droplets were burning. He lifted a hand to wipe it across his eyes and get the stinging water out, then lost his balance and ended up on his hands and knees in the corridor's flood, that was a couple inches high now.

He groaned as the water rained down on him, and a screaming alarm started up somewhere. It was close, and the wailing siren invaded his ears, bringing with it a dull, throbbing headache. The electricity had cut out, but there was an eerie, blue light coming from somewhere that created a strange shine to the murky water. Fang's vision was starting to blur, so that the tiles of the floor, distorted by the water, bobbed up and down. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get the focus back, kneeling in the flood for a seconds rest before he forced himself to his feet again.

He slipped for the second time as he raced round the corner, but managed to catch and right himself so that his hand just brushed the floor as he swayed and carried on running. His bare feet were making 'slap' noises as he ran, in time with his frantic panting. They had left him - the bastards - but like stinking rats fleeing a sinking ship, the scientists knew when to bail. Fang guessed he was on one of the basement floors, and had no idea how far up ground level was, but was getting the unwelcome, panicked feeling that he wasn't going to reach it.

Fang was running so hard he felt he might explode, but all the corridors looked the same, and were ominously free of people. He was totally lost, and was feeling his resolve ebbing away to hopelessness, but he couldn't give up yet... even though the tiredness was threatening again, he couldn't give up. Not to die alone, so far from the surface. So far from the endless, free sky, and trapped... so he kept running.

Fang found the stairwell a couple minutes later, but by now he could feel himself weakening. For some reason it looked impossible to climb. The endless steps stretched on for eternity, just going up and up forever. His arm on the metal banister didn't feel strong enough to pull him up, but he knew he had to at least try. His feet felt too heavy to lift, and he kept tripping on the tip of the stair because he just wasn't as quick as he wanted to be. He swore as he stubbed his toe for the third time. He felt like he was moving in slow motion, and so very tired all of a sudden. It was irritating, but only mildly, because his thoughts were slowing down too. Even though he felt like a fog was flooding his head, he still felt an icy horror when he only managed to force himself up one step before he had to lean on the wall and get his breath back.

He saw his vision flicker, and it felt like the world skipped, and all of a sudden Jeremy was stood next to him on the step, halfway up the stairwell, apparently having materialised out of nowhere. He was right up close next to him. How had he gotten there? Fang started suddenly and jumped back from him, his foot slipped and he almost started to tumble back down the painstakingly climbed stairs, but Jeremy had hold of his arm, and dragged him back.

"Get off me!" Fang said hoarsely, but Jeremy didn't seem to hear him.

Fang collapsed against the wall again. The descent of the stairs below him looked dizzyingly long, so he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, Jeremy was still hanging onto his arm with a bulldog's grip, and in his hand he had another syringe full of the golden liquid.

"Get off!" Fang shouted, and this time he heard him, but barely reacted. Fang felt as if his voice was disappearing.

"Fang, they made you sick," Jeremy said sadly. The background of the grey walls behind him were waving in and out. The entire place felt surreal, and dreamlike. "I'm helping you."

"You made me sick!" Fang yelled, "You all, all of you make me want to puke!" But again, it was as if he had spoken in a whisper.

"You need this. It's the only thing that will stop the process," Jeremy said, nodding encouragingly at Fang, but with a fear in his eyes, as if he were some unpredictable animal. Maybe that was how the Scientists thought of all of them.

"No," Fang said, trying to push him off, but with no affect. Jeremy could have probably overpowered Fang and forced the needle, even as he struggled, but maybe to prove some sort of point that he wasn't about to fight him, Jeremy let Fang tire himself out.

Fang kept trying to ineffectually push Jeremy's grip away from him, until eventually Jeremy let go and Fang found himself unable to stand without his help, and sank slowly down onto the step. And it was in this prone position, when all the fight had gone out of him, that Jeremy leaned down, syringe at the ready. Fang was waiting for the prick of the needle, but Jeremy paused.

"Fang," he said quietly, "I have to tell you what is going to happen to you," The man sighed, looking down at Fang's limp form spread across the stair. "We injected you with a serum that sort of, well it... it isn't..." Fang was barely able to listen to what he was saying, his mind only focusing on the long needle Jeremy was cleaning with a sanitised cloth. "You see Fang, you're going to get very ill. There are five stages of deterioration..." He was speaking in a detached voice, like he was doing a lecture, and as he spoke the last sentence he raised the syringe preparing to dose Fang with the golden energizer.

But that never happened, and Jeremy never finished the end of his sentence. Fang put both hands to the sides of his head, trying to focus, and saw Anton leap onto Jeremy from behind with a determined expression. Anton wrapped his legs around Jeremy's waist, like a human leech, as he locked his arm around the scientist's neck and wrenched backwards. Jeremy's mouth was an 'O' of surprise as he was pulled backwards, and he made a little gasping noise. The syringe flew out of his fumbling fingers, and clattered to a stop a few steps below Fang.

The Scientist and Jumper crashed hard onto the corner of the steps, tripping over Fang, and pitching Jeremy headfirst down the stairwell. Anton vanished with another rush of air and appeared at the top of the staircase, watching with his mouth open as Jeremy continued to fall. There were cries of pain with each new crunch as Jeremy tumbled down stair after stair. Fang saw his wide eyes peer up at him as Jeremy hit the corner, cracked his head on the wall, and carried on plummeting down to basement level. And eventually it was just a body falling, as the cries stopped, and they could only hear the sickening thump, as Jeremy crashed down the steps that went on forever.

And then there was silence.

Fang's eyes travelled to the syringe of golden liquid a few steps below him. Somehow, he had come to realise that this was what was keeping him alive, and sane. Fang tried to reach down to it, but his fingers brushed the air a few inches above it. He groaned.

"Say, are you alright?" Anton said, slowly seeming to notice Fang wasn't just taking a nap.

Fang tried to speak, but no words would form, so he tried to give Anton the plea for help in his stare, before stretching down to try reach the syringe again. He concentrated all his remaining energy on reaching that needle, turning himself onto his stomach so he was face down, looking into the depths of the dark stair. He stretched his arm down, he was centimetres, milimetres from it, just not close enough to actually grab without sending it spinning down the stairs out of sight. Just as his fingers touched the smooth, warm plastic, to Fang's utter dismay a second hand snatched it away from him.

Fang looked up, stunned, but it was of course Anton. "You just... just stay there," he stuttered, looking scared. "I'll do it." Fang tried to haul himself back to a sitting position, but Anton yelled, "Don't move!"

Defeated, Fang slumped back down and his eyes closed. He didn't even know Anton had injected him, until he realised he was thinking again, and he could feel the strength back in his body. It wasn't as explosive as before, the injection just got him back to feeling normal, rather than energetic, and he wondered if it's effect was lessening.

"Thanks," Fang muttered, though his own ears couldn't even make out what he said, so he didn't know how Anton did.

"Oh God!" Anton said, "I thought you were dieing. You looked like you were about to..." He trailed off. Anton helped pull Fang to his feet, and they finally reached the top of the stairs. They were on floor Two.

Fang coughed self-consciously and he avoided Anton's eye as he said. "They think you'll try fight your way out of the front entrance. There's a side exit down there, and there's only one guard watching it,"

"Thanks," Fang said again, it sounded inadequate, but it was all he could come up with. Anton started to turn back. "Aren't you coming too?" Fang asked.

"No," Anton said slowly. He was staring down into the darkness where Jeremy's body had fallen. "I think I'm just going to..." He started to walk back down the stairwell.

Fang turned away, feeling like an intruder, and a little creeped out. He was rehearing Jeremy's warning inside his head, but all he could think of was... If he could just see Max, just once more, he would be fine... He pushed open a door with the fire exit sign blinking above it, that hopefully lead him back to the outside world. And he started running again.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Ooh! I'm in a good mood today. No homework, and lovely complimenting reviewers. I love you people. Keep 'em coming. Wink.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

***  
**

**"Spiteful words can hurt your feelings but silence breaks your heart." - Phyllis McGinley**

*****

The first light of morning was beginning to slink into the sky. Max was crouched tensely just behind the last covering line of trees in front of the school. It was different than she remembered; they had rebuilt it about five times higher in smooth, grainy stone. The grounds were a couple feet in front of her, looking deceptively free of fences, but Max could just see the evil little cable snaking through the grass, and up ahead above the top of the trees another, encircling the camp. Max carefully moved a branch out of her line of sight, breathing out slowly. Here goes nothing, right? Max, eyes still on the building and the distance in between, reached down to dirt level and felt around for something to throw. Her fingers dug into the mud until her hand closed around a sharp, jagged rock. She clenched it hard in her fist, and slowly straightened up. Eyes narrowed, with a determined, set look on her face, Max pulled her hand back and hurled the rock as far as she could towards the school.

The rock flew through the air. It was just reaching the arch of the throw and beginning to fall back down when it reached the space of air exactly in between the two near invisible cables. When the rock reached that point, Max saw the cable on the ground spark up, and in a second the air lit up like lightening. Sparks and forks of electricity wound their way through the space, connecting from the cable around the top and the one round the bottom, so there seemed to be a thin wall of pure electricity between her and the school, that the rock had just hit. The forks of lightening darted towards the rock, freezing it for a split second in mid air. Then the rock dropped to the floor an inch on the other side of the invisible wall. The light disappeared quickly, as if it had never been, but lurking. The rock was now coal black, and it was smoking.

Max closed her eyes briefly and sighed. Then she spun round, turning her back on that hateful building and stalked into the trees.

She found the flock hunkered down a little way off. They had flown through the night to get here, so the kids were asleep, and only Iggy was awake. Max was glad, because Iggy could handle stuff like this, and she didn't feel she had the energy to try mask her anxiety. To her annoyance, Iggy greeted her with a quiet, "Yo," before she was even close to the camp. He had the hearing of a damn bat! Max gave up trying to dupe him, and crunched through the undergrowth.

"Hey Ig," Max said, sitting down next to him. Iggy was sat with his back against a tree trunk, rigid and always listening; none of them liked being this dangerously close to the school. "Thanks for taking first watch. I had to check this out," she muttered, quietly so as not to wake the others.

"S'okay," Iggy shrugged, bringing a rain of leaves down on them as he shook the tree. "I'm too wired to sleep. So, what did you find out?"

"They were right. There's an electric field, I think, surrounding the entire school. It totally pulverised the rock. We can't get past it, and Fang can't get out." Max felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as she realised the utter hopelessness of that sentence. A sudden urge to break down and cry started as a tightness in her chest, and crawled it's way up to become a huge lump in her throat. There was no way she could survive without Fang. It just wasn't possible. She swallowed. "I have to get him back!" Max said forcefully, trying to get rid of the threat of tears.

Iggy turned his head in her general direction. "It'll be okay Max. We'll get him back," Max felt herself get hot as she tried not to blush. Though Iggy couldn't see, it sometimes felt as if he saw way more than anyone else. Maybe it was her tone of voice or something? Max decided she'd have to start speaking in monotone around him. "If we can find a control box out here, I can try to switch it off," He offered.

Iggy's suggestion ignited a tiny spark of hope.

"Okay Kids, Up and at 'em!"

* * *

The flock were huddled, half sleep deprived, half anxious energy, looking on as Iggy fiddled with the little grey box. He swore and recoiled, as a spark zigzagged up his arm.

"Careful," Nudge said quietly. Iggy nodded. He stopped for a moment, to re-evaluate. He was going too fast, but they were all feeling the instinctual pressure of time running out. He had to slow down and think properly about this, the last thing he wanted to do was electrocute everything within ten metres. Unfortunately, that was what would happen if he got this wrong. The grey box was about as big as their microwave at Max's Mom's house, but far more deadly. There were the tangled intestines of wires all curled up inside, and it was hard to tell what led to where. They were using that damned coding system, so the coloured wires meant nothing, and he needed two people for this.

"Gazzy, over here a sec," Iggy murmured.

The Gasman appeared by his side, obedient and nervous. "Yeah?"

"I need to figure out which wire is leading to where, but there's too many, and we don't have enough time. I want you to- no, take this blue one - and I want you to follow it up and find out which socket it goes in," The Gasman nodded hurriedly, reaching out for the wire. "And the red one," Iggy said, "But it's important. Don't pull any out! Or we're burned toast!"

"Got it," Gazzy muttered, following his fingers up the wires.

Iggy took a deep breath, and felt around lightly for a wire. It was black, and he followed it up, dodging around the intertwining wires. His vision was flashing, black to nothing, black to nothing, red - wrong one - black, and then nothing, as his fingers skirted around, trying to keep up with it's winding ascent. Finally he reached the socket at the top of the box where it disappeared.

"Gazzy, what does the socket at the top of this say?"

"Uh... X-HI-03?"

"Okay, HI, that's..."

"High power?" Gazzy offered.

"Right, so we can pull this one out," Iggy said, trying to imagine this was just another bomb disposal lesson with Gazzy and not them trying to shut off the school's electricity, with the rest of the flock watching intently.

"You're doing really well, Iggy," Angel said soothingly. Iggy was aware that Max had said nothing during the entire time.

"Okay," He breathed out.

"This red one says 'D-Gr- 02'." Gazzy supplied.

"That's the ground floor wire, so we can get rid of that one,"

"Gone!" Gazzy announced, and Iggy could tell by his voice that he was getting hopeful, they were doing well, but something had made Iggy's stomach plummet.

"D-Gr-02?" He said, "02 means 'second wire'. There's two!" He heard Max make a groan of frustration behind him.

He turned back to the box, feeling around for the wires, and he and Gazzy worked in near silence, apart from the occasional whispered conference. As the sky began to get lighter, and the sun picked up the heat, promising a sweltering day, there were only five wires still attached to the box, with the rest hanging down in forgotten, stringy threads. They had disconnected the two top cables and one of the bottom ones, as well as reducing the voltage, but it wasn't enough yet. They had to find out which one of the remaining five wires in the box connected to the last thick electric cable. Iggy knew they had to keep three of them plugged in or it'd blow, which left them with two options, but there was nothing to help them guess the right wire.

"There is no D-Gr-01!" Gazzy moaned.

Iggy tried to decipher the remaining codes. It was 50/50, and that was always bad news.

"Hey what's that!" Angel cried, making him jump. And Iggy was suddenly aware that he had been too focused to hear the incoming, running footsteps.

"It's Fang! It's Fang!" Nudge yelled.

"What!" was Iggy's agitated response. And all too quickly the running footsteps became his focus, pressing down on his ears so he couldn't think properly about the wires. Just Fang's pounding feet getting closer and closer.

And suddenly Max was shouting, almost screaming at him, it felt like right into his ear. "He's heading straight for the cable. Switch it off, Iggy. Switch it off right now!"

"He's coming!"

"Let's pull them both out!" Gazzy cried, suddenly panicked at something Iggy couldn't see, taking a fistful of the two wires.

"No!" Iggy yelled, but it was too late. Gazzy wrenched them out, and Iggy felt the blast of heat as the box spluttered and spat sparks. There was a tiny 'boom' as the box imploded and started smoking. Well, it was definitely disconnected now, but that hadn't stopped it having a last fling at a power surge.

There was an instant rush of burning energy along the ground, but Iggy had no idea whether Fang had been in it's way or not, and the flock was silent.

* * *

A/N: Ha ha! Cliff hanger... I had a load of fun writing about Iggy and Gazzy's bomb disposal squad, for some reason, I love Iggy getting all techy.


	8. Author Note

**This has been copied and pasted from my profile page. 07/March/2011  
**

"Hi.

I'm sorry none of this has been updated in years.

I've moved over to Fictionpress where I'm writing my own original stories. If you like my writing here, and I assume we have similar taste in books, then you might like what I'm writing now, so check it out.

I'm sending out a huge big thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and all your lovely comments on my writing. It's been so supportive and encouraging.

I'm really glad people are still reading and enjoying my stuff. Unfortunately I doubt I'll update these anymore, but I know some of them need an ending desperately. :) So I've put a poll at the top to decide which story I'm going to finish properly for you.

Thanks so much for reading,

Alias x"


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